Eve:
I met Michael in elementary. My parents moved me into the school district, and I had no friends and a serious attitude. He tried to play me for a fool in various unimaginative ways, but I was almost always able to avoid the fallout. He only got in trouble about half the time, but he still blamed me. As we grew up, our emerging personalities clashed and the small crimes compounded, until now, at the age of eighteen, we either snarled at the sight of each other or avoided each other entirely.
Until the night I went to a dance at another high school, at the beginning of my last semester of high school. I was having a moderate amount of fun, but the guy I went with expected something he just didn't inspire in me. In short, he didn't turn me on, and that's apparently the only criteria I have for fucking a guy.
I was trying to squeeze out of the "privacy nook" my date had maneuvered me into, my date having stormed out ahead of me when I told him I wasn't giving it up. Michael decided it would be amusing to block my exit from the narrow walkway under the bleachers.
"Well, well," he said with a smarmy grin. "That couldn't have much fun for either of you: you two only went in there a minute ago."
"Fuck you, Mike," I said pointedly and moved to go past him.
"That's Michael," he corrected, peeved. The nickname was the one thing that never failed to irritate him, so, of course I used it whenever we were forced to interact. "And tsk, tsk, Eve. I would've thought you'd had enough of that for one night." I'd almost managed to slither past him when his arm shot out in front of me.
"For your information," I said, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me pissed off, "the phrase 'fuck you' is indicative of 'fuck yourself.' As you are giving someone an order, there is an implied 'you' at the beginning of the sentence. But for the feeble-minded, I'll restate this more clearly: Go fuck—" I was startled when his face abruptly descended towards mine.
He paused with his lips centimeters away. "Yourself," I finished breathlessly. Being this close to him made my heart pound, my breath catch in my throat. But not, I was horrified to realize, just because I hated him: it was because I wanted him.
"I think not," he murmured, so infuriatingly calm that despite my desire, I wanted to slug him.
"Truer words were never spoken," I hissed, some of my breath returning with the ease of the exchange.
He leaned forward until he was speaking with his lips against mine. "Now, now. Keep that up and we'll never get this over with."
"What?" I asked, distracted by my treacherous body. Our lips had barely brushed and my nipples were hard and my breath was coming faster. The friction from my dress rubbing against my nipples skittered along my nerve endings, shivering along my skin.
"This," he explained, and kissed me. Finally.
The point was driven home then that hormones are a powerful force, and not to be underestimated. My own were suddenly clamoring, ignoring the fact that he was a conceited asshole. The only message I received was, "Sex. Now."
I didn't realize I was so far gone until I let out a whimper at the feel of his tongue caressing my lips. Suddenly they felt swollen, and far more sensitive than before. Then the kiss grew deep, his tongue mimicking sex inside my mouth. I began rocking my hips against him, feeling the growing length of him as he pressed me against the bleachers at my back.
I tore my mouth from his, leaving our bodies plastered together. I looked at his eyes, saw they were dilated a bit glassy, and I could feel the effect I was having on his body. Trying to get a little control over myself and the situation, I leaned forward and bit his jaw gently, then whispered, "Where can we go where we can have a little privacy?"
"My car," he said, his jaw as tight as his grip on my waist. I nodded, making it slow and casual. He pulled back from me, just until we were side-by-side. His arm stayed around my waist, his fingers digging into my hip as we walked quickly out to his car.
When we were out in the dark parking lot, his hand moved down my thigh and around to my butt.
"What are you wearing under that innocent-looking dress?" he whispered, rubbing his hand over my posterior.
"You'll find out soon enough," I told him honestly and moved my own hand to his shapely ass. He jumped slightly as I squeezed.
He pulled out a key chain with a remote and unlocked a nice, roomy SUV. I knew it was his parent's car, and he was driving it because he was hoping to score, but at the moment, I didn't care, as long as we could get somewhere private quickly. I climbed into the passenger side, watched him walk around to get in the driver's seat. I stared through the windshield, disbelieving that I was actually doing this: I was going to fuck one of the people I disliked most in the world. What was wrong with me?
Then he reached over from the driver's side and placed his hand on my upper thigh, so his fingers brushed my mound. Even through layers of fabric, the heat and electricity from his touch registered, and I bit my lip, my eyes fluttering slightly. "Keep your eyes on the road," I protested breathlessly. "I don't want to die with you."
"Not before I'm inside you, anyway," he muttered. I didn't reply, even when his fingers began to walk my long skirt upward. Before he could reach skin, we were at our destination: a parking lot in a secluded area, surrounded by trees, moonlight and night sky. Perfect. I had my seat belt unfastened and was climbing into the back seat before he had the engine killed.
I sprawled over the back seat, my heels planted on the seat, my knees up with my skirt still demurely in place. He followed suit, beginning to unbutton his shirt as he made his way over the console. His hands slowed, started to stumble when I began to slide my skirt up to my waist. The moonlight was pouring through the windows, bright even through the tint, and illuminated my pale skin as it was revealed inch by inch.
He moved until he was kneeling between my spread feet. His hands—wonderfully rough-skinned hands that made me shiver—slid up and down my calves for a bit, then slowly slid around my knees, pressing them apart. My skirt fell to my pelvis. What there was of my black thong stood out starkly against my whitewashed skin.
He murmured something before leaning over and kissing me again, but I didn't catch what it was. Nor did I care. I immediately arched against him as his tongue entered my mouth, stroking erotically against my tongue.
